


Rose is French

by PlayTheRain



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-05
Updated: 2011-11-05
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:33:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayTheRain/pseuds/PlayTheRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Lalonde is French, has recently moved to the States, speaks with a heavy accent and moans broken french sentences as John buries her neck in butterfly kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rose is French

Miss Lalonde opens the front door of the mansion and allures John with a sultry twist of the mouth. She yells behind her shoulder.

"Rosaline, ton petit ami est là"  
A girl is heard answering from upstairs.  
"He's not my boyfriend mom!"

John gulps hard enough that he fears to swallow the back of his throat. He doesn't think Rose wanted her Mom to use her full name. On a sudden, Miss Lalonde beguiles John's attention with a ladylike movement of the chin.  
"I hope you will take care of her, young man", she says.  
"I mean to try, 'mam."  
"The poor thing barely talks to kids her age at school", laments the mother. "I fear, oh! That they make fun of her accent. And to think that she knows English by and large. I was so deadly anxious to see her cling to online socialization. A flower cannot bloom if she stays scooped inside for so long."  
"No 'mam."  
"That's what I though. I am glad, no I am thrilled! That you are followed your dad for his business trip. He was most ingenious to contact me for this... arrangement."  
John ponders about this. He is quite sure that the business trip was more excuse than necessity, and that neither he nor Rose planned this. Somehow, he had the feeling, their parents were far from strangers.

"Please be a gentleman with her", says Mom with a flat expression.  
"I look forward to it, 'mam."  
"A flower cannot bloom if she stays scooped inside", repeats the woman.

Hurried steps come from upstairs. Then John hears faintly "I'm coming!", and the sound of drawers being opened and shut in an hurry.  
"And John", says suddenly miss Lalonde.  
John gives her his attention. The woman holds her martini away from her and leans forward, closer, and closer still, and now so near that she is whispering to his ear.  
"You have permission to pick up the flower forcefully."  
The Lalonde woman draws herself back from John's ear, with a sunday morning grin on her face.

"Here I am!"  
And there stands Rose, breathing hard.

She is just like her picture, thinks John. Rose is fancying a pink dress, running shoes and a modest autumn coat. Around her neck, a colorful scarf. She is buzzing with the excitement of hurrying and running about. Her cheeks are puffed red, her eyes wide, her nostrils flaring, her hair perfectly combed except for a few strands that caught wind.

There's so much electricy in the air, though John, it feels like she just came riding down a lightning bolt.

While tugging her scarf, Rose pretends to be demure.  
"Hello John."  
The dissonance between tone and appearance nearly makes John giggle. Then he stands there frozen, his mouth slightly open. After a second, he manages to shakes his head and gather his wits. Maybe Dave was right. Maybe he did have a thing for her.

"Rose", says John simply.  
"Let's go. Good bye, mother"  
Behind her, Miss Lalonde smiles the smile of a witch. "Do not forget", it says. John wouldn't forget.

  
********************************************  


  


Upon hearing that Rose was french, John had seen his Prankster's Gambit depletes itself. Surely it was a mastercrafted joke. If anybody he knew was an expert at the English language, it was her. It turns out that it was not a gag. And it turns out, there was still a lot to learn about Rose Lalonde.

Rose had been in the States for a year and a half by now.

"Manifestly that is not when I started learning English", says Rose.  
"But still, one year! Wow!", says John.  


John and Rose walk down the path that lead to her house. John loves the way she talks. It sounded every bit as caricatural, to not say _cheesy_ , as french people sounded in his movies. In his mind, Rose was now a movie villain. Or at least she was the consort of a villain. Did that make him less of a gentleman if he _consorted_ with her, did that put him in the role of the good guy who converts back the vixen? He doesn't care to read into it. He is too engaged at drinking every word she says. Can you fall in love with someone's voice? Is that a thing that happens?  


"You need not fling yourself to your dramatic death from the high peak of a mountain. I assure you. I not such a genius that I murder my friends with feelings of inadequacy. I don't learn a language in a year. I have been reading in English for years before, and then writing some. Plus, Mom had us spend summers in England. She always had a thing for English gentlemen."  
"Does she?"  
"Patently, she now has a thing for southern american gentlemen"  
John though of his father and the sudden business trip.  
"Yeah, no kidding."  
Rose's hair lifts under a gust of autumnal wind. She fixes them in place with both hands. John feels a smile stretch itself on his face, and realizes he never had to think about it. The smile just happens by itself when he looks at her, and she isn't doing anything.  
"So, do you?" asks John.  
"You will have to be clearer John"  
"Do you have a thing for gentlemen too?"  
"Of the English or American variety?"  
"You tell me."  
"I assure you that once I ascertain my preferences, you will be noticed."  
"Oh I know! French gentlemen."

John takes pause on the road to give Rose a reverent bow.  
"Bonjour Rose" he says, all brooding.

Rose turns her face astern, clearly trying to hide her expression.  
"Oh hey Rose, Rose! I can speak french."  
The girl puts a knuckle to her mouth and doesn't turn her face.  
"Omelette du fromage."  
Rose laughs through her nose. John picks up the pace again.  
"So hey! Rose, why are you here now? In the states I mean, you and your mom."  
The girl regains her composure and tucks at her dress.  
"Mother's work. Research. Something about a new laboratory, opportunities, and science to be done. Experiments that will change the world. I make it a point to never ask about it."  
"Sounds pretty neat!"  
"And also..."  
"Also?"  
"Mom claimed to have a brother in the country. It was the first time I had wind of it. I presume it to be yet-another fabrication of madness by my mother. If she can make up an imaginary brother, so can I."  
John had heard a word of this before.  
"Gosh, Dave is a pretty lucky guy."  
"I fear not. Being an imaginary brother must be distressing work."  
"I wonder how he feels about being in direct competition with another imaginary brother."  
"If the madness persists, he will have to step up his game, so to speak."  
"Ha ha, yeah! He would probably find a way to call this ironic."

The conversation dies for a while as they walk down the villa's path. John clears his throat.

"So, where are we walking off to? At first I though, well, normally people show off their house. You know!"  
"The idea of a house surrounded by trees is only exciting on paper. It is rather not. In fact I do not know what makes it exciting on paper in the first place. It is an house, surrounded by trees."  
"But there has to be some cool stuff!"  
"If you like crypts and dead family pets, maybe."

Rose points further along the path.  
"There is a Burger King less than forty minutes away. I usually leave the house by way of biking. A frightful contraption, pink and mighty. I thought that we could enjoy a walk."  
"Of course. After all, we have so much to say!"  
"Indeed."

A silence lasting ten minutes befalls them.

  
********************************************  


  


John called off the cold war by bringing up the last movie he watched. He made it a point to explain why it was every bit of a work of genius. He was very good at this.  
"Because you see Bruce didn't want her to be with Ben Affleck at first, I mean yeah he shot at him I mean can you believe that, but then at the end he let it go and he was all alone on the asteroid and you know what, it was the size of Texas so you could say it was kinda like it was Texas and Willis was going back home and you see it's all about family ties and letting go."  
Rose pointed ahead.  
"Here's the road you came by, and that way, there's the bridge. There's a crossroad beyond it, and then there's the dining establishment we are questing for. There is also a Subway a little further ahead. We live in a blessed age. People used to eat the same toxic food all the time. We get to decide ours."  
"To say the truth, Rose, I ate before coming. Ha ha sorry! I mean I though it was bad manner, to meet someone and be like hey I'm hungry!"  
"Well if we are exchanging truths now then I must come clean as well. I'm not very hungry. I was looking forward to staring at you while you ate. Possibly stealing your fries."  
"French fries."  
"Yes John you are perceptive."

John hums happily at the sight ahead.  
"This bridge is pretty cool."  
"Yes it is. It has never failed me. It would be disquieting if it were to fling me in the river, but it has not, and for that I am grateful."  
John runs ahead and peers down at the water.  
"Doesn't looks deep. The river I mean."  
"It is not much of a river. It should be called a longitudinal puddle of water. I think the only reason it isn't, is because there is a bridge on it. So that we don't hurt the bridge's feelings."  
"Let's stay here for a while."  
"We can sit on the banks."  
"Yeah!"

John and Rose sits down on a slight slope near the bridge. It is covered with fresh fallen leaves. The air is cool and quiet. The atmosphere is perfectly flat. Sometimes autumn gives out a crestfallen mood, and sometimes it hits just the perfect note. That feeling of quietness, when you have nothing to feel about in the recent past, nothing to worry about in the near future, and you could very well just let yourself go and fall asleep where you lay.

John stares at the sky and listens to Rose breathing. Then he turns halfway, his weight on his elbow, to look at her. She has a leave in her hair.  
"Rose."  
"Yes John."  
"Say something, I like your voice"  
Rose's answer is delayed, and John thinks he troubled her with his casual confession.  
"We will need something to talk about", she says.

For a boy who finds himself in love with a voice, silence is a harsh mistress. The longer he was deprived, the stronger he felt about getting himself what he wants. To make Rose ramble or mutter or whisper, to experience the entire spectrum of french bad accents as taken directly out of movies.

"It's really quiet here. Do you come here often?"  
"Some"  
John nudges towards.  
"I think your hair looks like Dave's hair"  
Here it comes, though John. He takes a deep breath. He extends his fingertips at Rose hair's. She gasps with a note that has a deliciously foreign tone. He takes out the leave from her hair.  
"Did you see Dave's last picture? The one where he's all like "damn, I'm a coolkid with a shitty sword" and his room is full of puppets and it's all ironic? His hair looks like yours. Pretty much the same yeah."  
Rose squirms softly as John runs his finger in her hair. He feels like she's on the edge of exploding, but she doesn't offer any objection.  
"Although I can't tell if it's because his hair is long for a guy or because your hair is short for a girl."  
As he speaks, John's finger play at his heart's content, pulling here, smoothing there, and petting her scalp.  
"N'arrête pas."  
"Escuse me?"  
"Non, I mean, nothing. You were... saying?"  
John can't get out of his mind the picture of Miss Lalonde's smile. Her smile after she spoke into his ear. What did she say again? He suddenly feels hungry. Really, really hungry. But it's not in his stomach.

"I think the color is the same too, but I'm pretty sure Dave bleaches his hair. Well he didn't say he did. I just figure he does. It's the kind of thing that coolkids do."  
"S'il te plaît continue"  
John lowers a hand to her neck and traces a finger on her throat under her scarf.  
"Did you knit that scarf yourself? Or is it a gift from Jade maybe?"  
John withdraws the scarf halfway to pretend he's interested in it. His finger trails down to Rose's shoulder. She shudders, squirms and sticks both of her hands between her thighs. John never stop talking.  
"Well it has to be Jade's gift. It doesn't look like your style. It's just so cheerful and colorful"  
John removes the scarf completely and throws it over his shoulder.  
"S'il te plaît...", says the girl with a purr.  
"It's so georgeous and stylish", continues John.  
He opens Rose's coat further to let his hand sneak between her shoulder blades.  
"and so beautiful and perfect"  
John lowers his head and gives her a peck on the neck. A very light kiss, a quick dash of the mouth, business-style. Rose gasps, as if he had doused her in cold water. She skips breathing until John lays another kiss. And another.  
"J'en peux plus John non, non n'arrête pas n'arrête surtout pas"  
Rose starts to melt in his hands and threatens to slip to the ground. John pulls her up briskly. He lets her slouch on him, taking her weight. Then he kisses her on the neck a little higher.  
"Non non, oui John continue je sais pas je sais plus juste continue..."  
John holds her by the waist and kisses higher and higher, reaching her ear. He bites it, pull at her earlobe. Softly at first, then harder. He pulls at it meanly by the tip of his teeth.  
"John non John continue je n'en peux plus non mais tu dois continuer oui oui oui..."  
Her voice is trembling. Her hands are opening and closing rapidly, looking for something to hold dear to. She is languishing in his arms. Her feet twitches happily.

And then John decides to drop the bomb. He lets go of her and says "Oh", very loudly, so she would hear him through her veil of love turpor.  
"Quoi, quoi, qu'est-ce qu'il y a?"  
Rose tries to pulls herself together and sits on her butt, her cheeks pink, her eyes still twinkling, mouth half-open like her mind was wiped clean.  
"W-What's wrong John?" she says, trying to sound in control.  
"I just remembered. My dad wants me to call him in. To tell him that everything's alright. It's past time, I have to go."

Playing a girl, John decides, is like playing magic tricks on stage. It was all suspense. You had to play _with the audience_ , not just your tools of the trade. So here's what you do. You dress casually. You walk in like a normal person. Then you begin your show and you go in strong, and hard, and do something unexpected that makes everybody gasps. And the whole time you pretend it's the most natural thing in the world. And when the audience applauds, you quickly take the prestige and run with it. Don't drag it for one second longer. Just take it and leave. Why? Because they'll want you to come back. Because the audience is thinking: if this is what he does when he is doesn't even care, then what **happens** when he tries? What would even happen? Probably something incredible.

John smirks inside like he is playing his best prank yet. He pats his coat, means to stand up and walk away. Rose appears confused. She starts to understands that she is losing him.  
"Sorry about all that", says John with a goofy smile.  
He takes a good look at Rose Lalonde's internal battle, the one between her head and her still-frenzied heart. She is almost shaking. And suddenly, she grabs him by the arm. She closes her fingers on him, hard, as if she mean to never let him go.  
"S'il te plaît ne part pas"  
The girl's lips are wobbling, her eyes blinking one hundred times a second, her cheeks puffy, her hair undone, her eyebrow curving upward, chin trembling, pupils dilated palpitating, her torso rising up and down as if she just ran for her life. Every bit of her is the face of frustration and denied love.

That was quite enough for John.

He grabs the girl by the waist, wrestle her to the ground, stares at her in the eyes. She stops fighting back. He pulls down on her coat. It exposes her throat and shoulder to the cold breeze, pins her arms in place, and makes her moan.  
"Ah John continue, cueille moi comme une fleur"  
Rose breaths in, and again, and again as John draws nearer. She loudly squeal in her foreign tone as John unexpectedly slithers one hand under her shirt, tracing her belly button. All of her resistance melts away and leaves behind a quivering pile of girl Jell-o.

And as John lowers himself on her and closes his mouth on Rose's collarbones, a finger slowly caressing upward her thigh, his other hand edging to go down the waterline of her skirt, the boy drinks every word she says.

  
"N'arrête pas s'il te plaît, s'il te plaît, s'il te plaît" 


End file.
